


A Burning

by Alley_Skywalker



Category: Original Work
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Loyalty, M/M, Pining, Politics, Princes & Princesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-01 09:59:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16282472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alley_Skywalker/pseuds/Alley_Skywalker
Summary: William isn't about to take an unjustified risk that might ruin his friendship. But with Fitz trying to change the world, he can't help but wish that wasn't the only thing that would change.





	A Burning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scribblemyname](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/gifts).



William had serious doubts about the judgement of whoever first came up with Holstadt’s coronation ceremony. Where in most countries the event was typically bright and very public, conducted during the day or at dawn, the Holstadt ruling princes were crowned at midnight in the grand throne room, filled with nobles and dignitaries, but completely out of sight of the public. For the people there were festival grounds spread out across the plazas and squares of the capital, with free food and music and fireworks, but none of them would see the moment the crown first touched the new Prince’s head. 

The throne room was lit with candles – not the large chandeliers, but small nests of three or five candles positioned along the red carpet stretching from the double doors to the dais, all around the throne and at the windows. Mirrors were covered with thick red and blue fabrics and large aquariums of water had been brought in to be stationed around the chamber. The light was subdued and a little dim. Once the rituals of the ceremony were completely , torches were lit at the four corners of the chamber and a single, large torch was passed through the crowd from the doors to the throne and the newly crowned Prince raised it in a symbol of _light and triumph._

The preparations for that night’s coronation were almost complete and several servants were struggling to fix the massive corner torches securely in place. 

“This country’s fascination with fire will be its undoing one day,” William muttered as he watched them.

His mother, who had been prattling about something insignificant beside him for the past few minutes, was startled into silence. “Why? William are you even listening to me?”

“Yes, Mother. I must go now. I will see you later tonight. Perhapps.”

“William, I’m serious. Everyone who is to be anyone in the new government receives an Ascension Gift.”

“Mother, I don’t need an Ascension Gift to tell me my place at court.”

“That’s what you _think._ I know you and Prince Fitz grew up together, but that doesn’t mean—”

“Later, we’ll speak later.” William rubbed a hand tiredly over his face. He hadn’t been getting much sleep over the last few days. The new Prince had wanted to hit the ground running, even as he mourned his father and cried quietly into William’s shoulder the night before the funeral. There had been so much to do that William had not even considered the possible consequences of not receiving an Ascension Gift. There wasn’t much of anything he wanted or needed so it had not struck him as important. True that he was not _formally_ a councilman, but Fitz had never operated on formalities. Either way, discussing this with his mother, who thought Fitz a right fool, was exhausting. “I must go and make sure His Serene Highness is ready to begin within the hour.” 

William could hear his mother’s protests all the way down the gallery and somewhere in the back of his mind, her words about anyone who was anyone at a new court receiving an Ascension Gift hit a nerve that she did not realize was even there. There was in fact something William wanted, but it wasn’t a symbolic, or even lucrative, sign of favor. 

 

“Your Serene Highness.”

Fitz had his back to him when William walked into the Prince’s dressing room, not bothering to have himself announced. He stopped by the door and waited to be acknowledged. Fitz was studying himself thoughtfully in the mirror, absentmindedly smoothing out the crisp-white, ruffled cravat that looked a little over-sized and puffy on his slim frame. The rich blue velvet of his coat seemed to drink up all the light in the room and the gold trimming glittered the way only brand new fabric and string do. “Don’t you think all this ceremony is unnecessary?” Fitz said finally, after a drawn out silence.

“It’s tradition, Your Serene Highness. I would think you would enjoy the triumph.”

“I will enjoy the triumph once we get something useful done.” Fitz turned away from the mirror and picked up a pair of solid-gold cufflinks. He held them out to William. “Have you finalized the list of Privy Council members?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” William busied himself with helping Fitz with the cufflinks, self-consciously careful for their hands to not brush against each other too much or too often.

“And the list of noblemen to be recalled to the court? I think it’s only about five?”

“Yes, Your Highness. Pasche, Bau—”

“Would you stop that?”

William froze and looked up, startled by Fitz’s sharp tone. “I’m sorry?”

“The whole…title thing. What’s wrong with you? You’re constantly uncomfortable around me ever since Papa died.”

Fitz was not completely wrong on that account, but William could not help but smile fondly at the petulance in his tone. Fitz very often intuited things the meaning of which he could not understand.

“Is this a practical joke, Will? It’s not funny.” Fitz brushed a strand of ginger curls out of his eyes and gave William his sternest look.

“Not at all Your High—”

“William!”

William was not quite able to help the giggle that came bubbling out and suffered a half-hearted shove for his trouble.

“I’m serious. I can feel you circling…something. Is there something you want?”

Had he really been so obvious lately, Fitz’s father’s death loosening his self control and making him anxious at the same time? “Not at all.”

“Is it an Ascension Gift, is that what this is about?”

William shook his head earnestly. “I don’t need an Ascension Gift.”

Fitz began to fidget nervously with the cufflink William had not had time to put on. He did not seem to believe William’s protestations. “Is there something you need? Or is it your mother? Money for the estate? More land?—”

“Your Highness—”

“A good marriage for your sister? A good marriage for yourself?—”

“No! Your—”

“A hunting entourage? A medal, or something? Don’t tell me it’s a formal governmental title—everyone knows I listen to you more than most of those self-aggrandized turkeys—”

“Fitz! St—”

“I’d give you anything you want anyway. Not that you ever ask.”

“Listen.” He reached out and took the second cufflink away from Fitz before he broke it. “I don’t need an Ascension Gift—that’s all nonsense. I’m simply…it’s been a hard week and this is a big change whether you want to admit that or not. People change after they inherit, not to mention inherit an entire principality. Governments function a certain way. They have chains of command and official roles with official responsibilities. It’s not just your own household anymore. I suppose I’ve been…uncertain where I fit into all of that.”

“You’re a real fool.” There was genuine relief in Fitz’s voice and all the tension seemed to puff out of him all at once. He held out his hand again for William to finish with the second cufflink. “You’re my best friend and first advisor, like its been our entire lives. No stupid court rules in a dusty old book are going to change that.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“And don’t call me Your Serene Highness. It takes too long to hear.” Fitz smiled and bumped lightly against William’s shoulder as he made his way into the hall. The ceremony was soon to start.

It would be triumphant, and Fitz would look beautiful in the candlelight with the dynastic crown of the Holstadt princes on his head and the ceremonial torch in his hands. But all William could think about as he closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts before going back out to face the court – and his mother, no doubt – was the frustration in Fitz’s voice as he insisted, _I’d give you anything you want._

How William wished that could be true.

*

By the time he inherited, Fitz already had a list of things he wanted to do all planned out, from small changes, like installing more street lamps, to major sweeping reforms like an edict proclaiming a freedom of the press and the raising the age at whichb someone could legally marry. He attempted to involve himself in everything all the time and seemed to stay awake through long days of consultations, oversight visits and council meetings and equally long evenings of parties, dinners and balls through nothing but enthusiasm. 

William was only somewhat stunned by the sudden workload that Fitz unleashed on all of them. Since none of the ceremonial chamberlains who had served under Fitz’s father cared to keep up with the new Prince’s level of activity, William often found himself acting as the _de facto_ head of household. He was willing – always, _always_ willing – but usually exhausted as he was also constantly being pulled into meetings on foreign diplomacy and internal reforms. 

As organized as Fitz was on domestic policy, he struggled to keep on message with any line of foreign policy. He wanted to go to war with Danvedhav over the disputed territories but also host the King of Platzstadt for an alliance summit. Both of which were possible but, as William impressed on him repeatedly, _not at the same time._ Fitz was easily swayed by the ambitions of sea explorers but also felt like all their efforts would be better used on helping the various western principalities form a cohesive confederacy. 

At least, William thought at times, Fitz’s foreign policy ideas rarely went anywhere. His domestic politics marched along at a dizzying speed many at court found mortifying. His popularity swung wildly from month to month and, among some groups, from week to week. Which was exhausting and overwhelming to keep track of. The one saving grace was that none of the new policies were so widely unpopular or divisive as to be truly threatening. Not even the highly controversial Age of Marriage law that was debated for days in the papers and caused William more than one headache. 

*

“Have you seen it?”

“I’ve seen it.”

“But have you read it? Hundreds of women and girls, and dozens of men – many of them nobles, by the way – writing to thank me for raising the age they or their daughter or their sisters could be bustled off to the alter. Surely, William, you agree that fifteen is far too young. And it isn’t like I’m making old maids out of them. Seventeen is a perfectly reasonable age.”

“I agree, but you must know that hundreds of others oppose it.”

Fitz ran a hand through his mess of curls that refused to stay tied back. They stopped just outside the council chambers. “That’s a fight I’m done having. Bad enough we’re likely to face another one today. It’s done with. I’m not changing it.”

William smiled softly at him. “I would never ask you to.” 

Fitz squinted at him suspiciously. “But you don’t approve.”

“I approve of the concept. I just wish you would take three seconds to take a breath.” 

“My father took a lot of breaths and his father before him. Do you like where it has led us?”

“It could be much worse. We are doing alright for ourselves.”

“But it could be better.” Fitz sighed and shook his head in a gesture that William recognized as _let’s not talk about it._ “Can I rely on your support in there on the salt thing?” Fitz nodded toward the double doors of the privy council chamber. 

“You can rely on my support for anything.” 

Fitz made a face, but not without humor in his eyes. “I hate it when you sound like an actual courtier.” 

 

“Ah, My Lord, good of you to join us.” Fitz looked pleased.

Count Pasche bowed and surveyed the rest of Privy Council members with a calm look, as though challenging any of them to speak out against this favor showed him. William had tried to tell Fitz that it was one thing to bring a political exile back to court and another to put him on the Privy Council. _It is temporary_ , Fitz had told him, _only until Baron Goltz recovers. Besides, my father exiled him over a petty matter. Not treason._ The petty matter had been a woman, so in that sense, Fitz was not incorrect, but the optics still made William uneasy.

None of the other privy councilors dared question Pasche in front of Fitz. Or perhaps they were too distracted by the large ornate case his valet was holding.

“What is that, My Lord?” William asked.

“A gift for our most generous Prince. To light up the Festival of Fire in two months time.” Pasche reached over and opened the case to reveal a load of aerial shells and supplemental scoops of dark, smooth powder. “Fireworks from the far-off southern lands, the Kingdom of Muhara.”

“That _is_ a very long way,” someone piped up from the back. “Did you go there yourself, My Lord?” Snickers followed.

Fitz glared and waved for the lot of them to quiet. “Enough. _Thank you_ , My Lord. I’ve heard that these fireworks are something incredible. And the casing is extraordinary.”

“That’s a very long fuse,” William observed, only now noticing the coiled up fuse coming out of the back of the casing, some three times longer than on regular fireworks.

“These are highly explosive, My Lord, “ Pasche said with a self-satisfied air. Then to Fitz: “You may wish to keep them in a very safe place, Your Serene Highness.” 

“Well we can keep them here. Only the chamberlains, privy councilors and myself have the keys.”

“And staff.”

“Only inner staff.” Fitz gave William a discouraging look. _Let’s not squabble over this._ “Besides, the casing is exquisite. I say we put it over there, away from the lamps but still in sight so it can be a motivator to get things done. Let’s give people some real achievements to celebrate in the new year.” 

William figured the fireworks were probably safer here than in the armory or the storehouses anyway. He could tell that Fitz was trying very hard to seem collected and focused but William could almost feel the vibration of excitement coming off of him. Fitz loved the Festival of Fire. He loved fireworks especially. Perhaps it would do best to be gracious to those who wanted to please Fitz – they had a real fight ahead of them. “You are very generous, My Lord,” William said, with notes of appeasement. Some of the councilors who had looked skeptical at Pasche’s initial arrival now hummed and nodded. Fitz gave him a thankful half-smile. 

“Take a seat, Count Pasche. We have a long afternoon ahead of us,’” Fitz said. He glanced at the agenda notes and continued, almost hurriedly. “We have debated this before at length, My Lords. I have come to a decision and I am afraid you will not like it. I have decided we will lower the price of salt and remove the seasonal tax.” He looked up, the look on his face anticipating the reaction. 

Every northern nobleman looked pained and a couple groaned. “My Prince, may I be heard?” Lord Rahmaan said, a little sharply. 

“Not yet. There is one more thing that I think this legislation should contain. The price lowering is to allow the people to acquire enough salt to make the preservatives they need to feed themselves well through the winter and to allow them to have stores for when livestock fails. We have discussed this before. We produce much salt but export almost all of it so there is a constant deficit. This pushes prices up. The most vulnerable of our subjects cannot afford much salt at those prices. This has lead to tragedies before and it is unnecessary.”

William watched the faces of the privy councilors. Some were nodding along. Most of the northerners, who were the most invested in the salt industry and market, did not look convinced. William had a feeling the rest of this program would be even worse in the long term, though they might not realize it right away. 

“Second,” Fitz continued, seemingly unperturbed by the sudden tension in the room. “The nobility has monopolized the industry for too long. This seems to have been unwise. The laws that have made it illegal for anyone but those of noble birth to own a salt mine, selling license or refinery have made it so that these places go out of business or fall into disrepair when the nobles who own them cannot properly sustain them and no noble buyer is available. Therefore, I intend to repeal these laws and allow merchants to practice in the salt market.” 

A deep murmur went through the room. William could tell that this idea was perverse to the privy councilors on instinct but they had not yet figured out why they were _logically_ against it. 

Lord Rahmaan stood up, back straight and eyes cold. “This is preposterous, it would bankrupt the northern nobility.” 

“Sit down, My Lord,” William bit out, hoping inwardly that Fitz would not say anything insensitive. 

“Why, Lord Rahmaan? Are your salt mines in danger of being sold?”

 _I never learn,_ William thought in exasperation as Lord Rahmaan fumed visibly. “It is insulting, Your Serene Highness.” The title came out so venomously that William could not help but feel a tension begin to build up behind his ribs. They would need to watch Rahmaan now. 

“My Lord,” Pasche cut in suddenly. “Perhaps it is not all that bad. Your businesses are firm and prosperous. They are neither in danger of selling to unworthy buyers nor failing you for the sake of low prices. And, perhaps, the difference in price will be made up by the quantity that people buy.” 

“Finally, someone reasonable,” Fitz said. 

A look passed between Pasche and Rahmaan, the quality of which Will could not ascertain. Slowly, Rahmaan sat down. “Forgive me, Your Highness.” 

 

“May I ask you something?” Pasche said, approaching William once the Privy Council was dismissed. 

“Yes?”

“The Prince is very passionate, more so than I may have expected. How willing do you think he may be to reconsider some of his views?”

 _Not very,_ William thought. Instead, he said, “Depends on the strength of the arguments presented. Do you wish to petition?”

“No, no.” Pasche had a thoughtful look. “I’m simply afraid that such zeal may bring men like Lord Rahmaan to think too poorly of the Prince.”

“Too poorly?” William raised his eyebrows in askance. “Is there something you know, My Lord?”

“Oh, no. I have simply been shown great favor and would not want—well… _unrest._ ” Quite the self-serving way to admit to not wanting to lose his position in the case of a coup or some other extraordinary event. William tried to recall what Pasche had been like when he had last been at court, but he and Fitz had only been boys then and uninterested in the intrigues and activities of the adults around them. But he figured Pasche must have been then like he was now. Self-interested and self-satisfied. It was the way of the court. 

“Well, I can tell you between us, Count Pasche that the Prince feels strongly about the salt question. And his other reforms. And the Privy Council had debated this for several sessions before your arrival.”

“Of course, of course. It is good to be back at court.”

“Did you come alone?”

Pasche smiled a smile that almost seemed genuine. “My wife and daughter are with me. I could not leave them in the country. They have been too long without good company.”

William could not say he would call the court _good company._ More like poisonous company. “Well, I hope to see them at the ball in a fortnight. Good day, My Lord.” 

Leaving Pasche, William went back into the council chamber where Fitz was lingering over the fireworks Pasche had brought, admiring the ornate casing. Strange to make such a fabulous shell for fireworks – it would be completely ruined after. “It is a very good gift,” William said. 

Fitz did not seem to actually be thinking about the fireworks. “What was all that nonsense about…unworthy buyers? Or what was it they called it?”

William went to stand next to Fitz. Something about the fireworks, about their seeming unpredictability – _highly explosive,_ Pasche had said – made William inch a little closer to Fitz then he usually would. They stood almost shoulder to shoulder. “I believe the fear is that for those nobles who have failing mines or refineries, and whose finances are generally in disarray, they would be willing to sell at rather low prices, ordinarily, but with demand going up once the merchants are allowed to have a go at the matter, they will ask for higher prices and be offered higher prices. By rich merchants. The sort of prices which other nobles would be unwilling to pay, not finding the deal advantageous enough. So for rich, buying nobles, they would need to pay higher prices for things that would have otherwise come cheaply to them.”

“And for the poor, selling ones?” William could feel Fitz looking at him even as he himself kept his eyes on the fireworks case. “Would higher prices not be better?”

“For them…humiliation of having to sell to a merchant.”

“Pffft.” William could hear the laughter in Fitz’s voice. “What nonsense. And people say _I’m_ impractical. Well, that decides it. We are going ahead with this. Make sure the manifesto is drafted by the end of the week.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” 

*

With the year winding down, Fitz allowed himself, and everyone around him, some room to breathe. He would take an afternoon off now and then and go out to a small country estate just outside the capital that had been in his family for centuries, long before they became the ruling family. He took William with him, and sometimes Lady Lisotte and Lt. Colonel Rumberg. They soaked up the last of the sun before the rains of the cold season, swam naked in the lake, and roasted smores on hastily made bonfires made haphazardly on one open patch of earth or another.

One time, William found himself dozing off in the sun on a sandy spot on the lake’s bank with Fitz tucked against his side, head on his shoulder. Everything was quiet except for the soft slapping of the water against the rocks and tall weeds on the bank and the occasional chirping of far-off birds. Fitz was still and relaxed beside him, untouched here by court life and the responsibilities of ruling. 

William wished, wished so hard it almost hurt, that they could stay like this always. In that echo of their childhood when it had been only them.

And he wondered if anything between them might change if they did.

*

Count Pasche’s daughter was a slim and dainty thing, all country-style blonde curls and large eyes. She looked little like her father who was dark haired and broad-chested. She was fifteen and one of the youngest ladies at the last large ball of the year. The next ball this size would be the Festival of Fire. Count Pasche was clearly proud of her luminescent youthful beauty as he lead her over to where Fitz and William were engaged in a somewhat surreal conversation about the ladies of the court, neither of them truly wishing to have it, though for different reasons. 

“Your Serene Highness, may I present my daughter, Countess Gertrude Florence Pasche.”

“Very pleased, My Lady,” Fitz said, shifting somewhat awkwardly. William, less awkward with women, took it upon himself to kiss the girl’s hand, even as she curtsied and blushed bright red. 

“She is unused to such glamour.” The father was clearly trying to communicate something to his daughter through sideways looks and a brush of his hand against her shoulder, but she only continued to blush and look at Fitz with placid, lovely eyes, clearly making him unsettled. “But is she not lovely, Your Highness,” Pasche persisted. 

“Very, My Lord. You must forgive me, My Lady. I do not know the romantic things to say to beautiful young ladies.” Fitz took a long drink from the wineglass he was holding. William wished he knew of a polite way to extract him from the conversation. 

“I’m sure that by the time she is seventeen, My Lord,” William put in pointedly, “She will have gotten accustomed to court life and will be in high demand.”

“Ah yes, of course.” Somehow Pasche looked put off by his reasonably diplomatic comment. “But is it not a shame to deprive someone of her beauty for two entire years?” He said it lightly, almost as though he did not mean it. 

Fits, however, still smarting from the lack of universal enthusiasm about this particular reform, said, “I don’t know, My Lord, why don’t we ask her? Countess Gertrude, would you like to be married now?”

The young Countess Pasche turned an even deeper shade of red, now practically matching her crimson ballgown. “Only to a man as brave and gallant as Your Highness.”

William and Fitz had the misfortune to meet each other’s eyes just in that moment. Fitz bit hard on his lip and William hid quickly behind his wineglass as to avoid bursting out laughing and offending the poor girl, who had clearly practiced the line. 

Something about this made Fitz a little less awkward. “Come, let us dance, My Lady.”

As Fitz disappeared into the colorful crowd of dancers with Gertrude, William turned to Pasche, who appeared to be cautiously pleased. “And where is your wife, My Lord?”

“She had a headache and could not come,” Pasche said. Something about it sounded practiced, but William did not wish to pry into family affairs. He had only asked as a pleasantry. Pasche excused himself and William took another glass of wine. He found Fitz and Gertrude among the dancers and followed them with his eyes as they weaved in and out of the crowd. Neither of them were particularly good dancers but Fitz was trying to be _gallant_ and she was…an adolescent of fifteen trying to fit in in a strange, demanding place. And still William envied her for having Fitz’s arm around her waist and his hand in hers. 

It wasn’t that William could not ask Fitz to dance. There was no social folly in that. The young Baron Blum paraded his endless string of male lovers in front of the court on a monthly basis. Fitz would laugh but likely not refuse him. They had danced country and folk dances before, William lifting Fitz high into the air in the light of a bonfire or skipping around in an eight-shaped pattered with their arms linked at the elbows to a country flute. They had done these things before as adolescents on holidays away from the court and the capital. But these days, William felt that if he took Fitz in his arms for a waltz or a mazurka, he might do something stupid. Something both of them would regret and never recover from. 

So he stuck to the wine. 

 

Fitz’s tolerance for alcohol was abysmal, that was clear. As much wine as William had consumed that evening, Fitz had somehow managed to get even more drunk and William found himself at the end of the night half-guiding, half-dragging his Prince and best friend through the long halls of the palace back to his own rooms, because they were closer than the Prince’s suite. 

“I don’t see why I have to get married,” Fitz complained as they nearly ran into another wall, neither of them very steady on their feet. 

“Country needs an heir.” William was too focused on not tripping to argue. 

“But do I have to marry for that? I guess I could marry Lisotte.” 

“I don’t think Lisotte wants to marry you.”

“She likes me.” 

“Because you take her hunting.” 

Fitz snorted and almost fell over again. As they rounded another corner, William caught a flash of bright blue and looked over sharply. A woman in a blue gown had slipped out from one of the suites and hurried down the hall. She kept her head down but Fitz had apparently seem enough of her face to confirm William’s suspicious. “What was Pasche’s wife doing in Lord Rahmaan’s rooms?” 

“I don’t know. An affair probably. Tells her husband she is ill and then goes to entertain her lover.” _As her husband attempts to make her daughter into the Prince’s mistress._

__Somehow, they managed to make it to William’s rooms without falling over or getting lost. William sat Fitz down on the bed and began to unbutton his coat as Fitz’s struggled with the ruffled cravat. “Do you think I could just choose a Mother of the Heir?” He was clearly not done with the marriage and procreation subject. William supposed they would have to face it eventually. The nobility was certainly talking about it – would the Prince choose a foreign princess for the sake of an alliance or marry one of their daughters, something that Holstadt princes were known to do every few generations.

“Depends on whether you want to achieve a foreign alliance with a marriage.”

“Noooo. My grandfather’s marriage was arranged to a foreign princess. They were both unhappy. There are other ways to get alliances.” 

William was mildly surprised that Fitz could string together so many words in his drunken state. “Mothers of Heir are usually used when a prince chooses a male consort. Arms up.” Fitz obeyed and William pulled off his linen shirt, tossing it aside onto the nearest chair. Fitz kicked off his boots and reached for the lacing on his britches. 

William froze even as Fitz struggled to undo the ties. He did not trust himself with this, not as his body began to respond to the mere thought.

“The hell with this,” Fitz muttered. 

William bit his lip. “Hold on.” Somehow, together, with William feeling like he would die of awkwardness and embarrassment at his own feelings, they got through the procedure. Fitz, fulling undressed, scrambled under the blankets, with William still sitting at the end of the bed. 

He felt unreasonably hot and the fabric of his clothes too scratchy and tight against his skin. It was one thing to see Fitz undressed, it was another to actually undress him and to feel the warmth radiating from his skin, to involuntarily brush his hand across the inside of Fitzs's thigh and to feel Fitz’s body respond to that, Most certainly on instinct and nothing else. William undid his own cravat and disposed of his coat. 

“What if I was to take a male consort?” Fitz asked sleepily. 

William could not bring himself to look at him. “That would be your right, Your Highness.” William did not know what to think of Fitz’s preferences. He had never been one to chase either men or women or anything. Sometimes, he would remark on the beauty of a woman they passed on the street or met at a party. Some of his friendships with men over the years had traces of the sort of hero worship or passion that could be almost called romantic. William had suffered through every instance with quiet loyalty and a constant feeling of nausea. But nothing had ever come of any of it. 

He had thought at times that it might be worth it. To simply turn to Fitz one evening and tell him—everything. _You’re everything to me._ To pull him close, to touch their foreheads together, to put a hand on the back of his beck, feeling the first soft tufts of curls, and to—

But he never did. Because it was too risky. He could not say for certain if Fitz felt anything but friendship for him. After all, Fitz was not like William – quiet, reserved William – he was emotional and straightforward, completely unable to hide any strong feeling. And he was the Prince now and had been the Heir before. He was allowed whatever he wanted, at least in this regard. Surely, if there was anything to it… And William would not risk his lifelong friendship for the vague and uncertain possibility of kisses and waking up together in the mornings. Regardless of how much he wanted those things too. 

“Will?” Fitz was still holding on to consciousness. 

“Hm?”

“What if it’s you? As my consort.” 

It was like a lightening bolt had gone through him. William was completely paralyzed for several moments, unable to breathe while he processed this. _He’s drunk he does know what—_

Slowly, he turned toward Fitz, uncertain even as he opened his mouth if he was going to seriously ask for a clarification or tease—Only to find that Fitz had finally given up wakefulness and was fast asleep. 

William let out a breath he must have been holding for nearly a minute. His chest ached and there was a stinging sensation somewhere behind his eyelids. _Bloody hell._

 

In the morning, Fitz remembered nothing. 

*

With just days before the Festival of Fire, a lot of the resources of both the palace and the capital were launched into preparing for the festivities. There were complicated logistics regarding decorations, food and drink, security measures, city-wide entertainments, all being discussed and arranged in part by the city mayor and his staff and in part by a committee of the Prince’s household staff, which William oversaw because he, apparently, could not give up control and oversight for two minutes. 

William was returning to the palace in the late evening after yet another meeting with the major’s chief of staff when he ran across a strange little huddle in one of the hallways linking up the residential wing and “working” wing of the palace. Several northern nobles, including Lord Rahmaan stood huddled together, discussing something quietly. 

They had been increasingly outspoken about the Salt Edicts – as the lowering of prices and tax reduction on salt, as well as the liberalization of the market’s ownership rules, became known – but none of security channels employed by William reported back anything more suspicious than frustrated rants at parties and half-baked plans about a petition or, perhaps, public slander. Nothing violent, that William could parse, at least, so he had put them out of mind until after the holiday. Some segment of the nobility was always grumbling about being mistreated. 

As he approached, the group quieted. One of their lot turned around and William recognized Pasche. This was surprising as William did not think he ever saw Pasche associate very closely with Lord Rahmaan and his friends. Certainly not enough to be whispering in dark hallways. 

“Good evening, My Lords. Is something amiss?”

“Not at all. We were simply discussing plans to go on a bit of a trawl, “ Pasche said. “Drink and women, you know the stuff. The sort your wife or mother wouldn’t want to hear a lick about.” He gave William an amiable, conspiratorial sort of look. 

“Would you like to join us, My Lord?” Another one of the men asked. He was also a Privy Councilor. About half of the group were. 

“No, I have an early morning ahead of me, but thank you.” 

They all bowed to each other and Rahmaan waved for the rest of the group to follow him. They seemed oddly tense for a group going out for drinks and women. William could imagine Rahmaan and his norther friends stirring up some plot but Pasche seemed to side with Fitz as often as he opposed him. 

It was disconcerting, especially since William could not derive a motive. He needed a second opinion. 

 

“But doesn’t it seem odd?” William pressed. 

Rumburg shrugged and stretched out on the sofa. “Perhaps there’s nothing to it.”

“No, there must be. They’re up to something. I just don’t know what it is. Rahmaan and Pasche—why? Even assuming Pasche doesn’t know Rahmaan is fucking his wife.” 

“How do you know that?”

“Fitz and I saw her coming out of Rahmaan’s rooms after the ball. Pasche had thought she was home ill.”

“Ah. Well…are we sure Pasche doesn’t have any investments in the salt industry? In the trade side of it? 

“No, I’m certain. That I had checked on before. He’s really got no serious political views that I can think of. Or strong ideologies. He was exiled because he slept with the Prince’s mistress. He’s lived on his estate with his wife and daughter. He’s not very rich, never seemed very politically ambitious.”

“Maybe it’s his wife.” 

“His wife? Got dragged into it by Rahmaan and dragged him in as well? I don’t know…” _His wife and daughter._ A daughter who was fifteen. “Maybe it’s the age law? His daughter would have been of marriageable age. He did make some comment of depriving men of her charms. I don’t know how serious he was about it.” 

“We should ask Lisotte, she would know the gossip better.” 

They sent for Lisotte.

Lisotte, on being informed of the situation, fell dramatically into an armchair. “I can’t tell you much about the daughter. I would have thought they brought her to the capital to find a husband, but that doesn’t seem right with the new age laws. I suppose she must be happy about it though – at least given the last person her parents engaged her too.”

“ _What?”_ William, who had been standing at the window, watching the group of men he had encountered earlier mount up on horseback and leave the front courtyard. Odd they weren’t taking a carriage; they would regret the decision later. But hearing Lisotte mention that Gertrude had been engaged snapped William’s attention back to the conversation. “Who was she engaged to?”

“Landgraf Farzt. You know, the one who is dying now? Given how ill he is, he probably wouldn’t have lasted more than a few months past their wedding day. A year at most. But he was always lascivious and extravagant. A man with an estate the size of his... Now there is someone who has a lot of fingers stuck into the salt pie. Either way, that engagement was almost finalized but obviously fell apart when the age laws passed. No one expects Farzt to last another two years.” 

“Fascinating,” Rumberg said. 

"How come no one knew?" William asked.

Lisotte shrugged. "They're all the way out int the provinces. WE wouldn't have known likely until there was a formal engagement. I only know because she told her new friends here, and news like that travels at court. And you’re wrong about Pasche’s wife. She’s not sleeping with Rahmaan. Her lover is Count Wolfsenhatzen. At least so all the ladies say. She probably was just working as an emissary between Rahmaan and Pasche for…whatever it is they’re doing.” 

“Why though?”

“To not get noticed,” William said distractedly. “But it doesn’t make sense. He never complaint much about the age law. He brought Fitz a very expensive gift. He gives reserved support and reserved opposition.”

“Probably a cover up,” Ramburg poured more wine for himself and Lisotte. “So no one would suspect him.”

“More careful than the others or has a more sinister role?” William could feel the headache coming a mile away. 

“That’s something for the Head of Police and Interrogations to figure out.” Rumberg held up the wine bottle. “You want some?”

William shook his head, his thoughts still racing. “I need to tell Fitz. He needs to be more careful.”

 

“Where is the Prince?” William demanded of the valet he found in Fitz’s suite. 

“He has gone to the Privy Council, My Lord.”

That was all wrong. “Why? At this time?’

“A note, I think, My Lord. His Highness said something about the council calling an emergency meeting.”

“Fool, I just saw a third of the Privy Council leave the palace—” 

_He was upset about the age laws. He came and brought a gift he knew Fitz would like and made himself pleasant. He had asked if Fitz might change his mind on policies and was told ‘no.’ He shoved his daughter in Fitz’s face – if not a rich noble’s wife then the mistress of the Prince._

_He had tried and waited and failed. And Rahmaan was his Plan B._

_He had not wanted to be suspected._

_He had brought a gift._

“Fitz!”

 

William did not know what he had expected to see when he burst into the Privy Council chambers, but Fitz standing in the middle of an empty room looking frustrated but unharmed was a welcome sight. 

“William!” Fitz turned on him, clearly irritated. “Do you know where the bloody council is? I got a note saying there was an emerg—”

“We have to get out of here.”

“What?”

“I’ll explain later. Let’s—”

"No, tell me now."

"Pasche—he did something—the fireworks—Later!"

“Do you smell that?” Fitz asked. The air was quickly filling with acrid smoke. 

They turned at the same time to see the smoke pouring out around the fireworks casing, even as William was pushing Fitz’s toward the doors. “Run, Fitz!”

They tumbled out into the hall, William paused to slam the heavy doors shut, hoping the barrier could do some good. Fitz stopped at the end of the hall to wait for him. 

William turned and ran—and hardly got three steps out before the explosion behind him swallowed up the world. 

Smoke poured into the hallway as the double doors of the council chamber were blown completely off their hinges. William was hit by something heavy from behind and fell, the world spinning from pain in his shoulder, hands and knees and the sudden loss of balance. 

He found, suddenly that he could not get back up. His arm was pinned down by one of the large oak doors. He could feel the heat of the fire that was spreading swiftly, feeding on the curtains and tapestries and upholstery. 

“William! Oh—damn it!” Fitz was suddenly in his line of vision, kneeling beside him and struggling with the door, It was too large and too heavy for him. 

“Go, Fitz. Get out of here.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“You’re the Prince, you need to—”

“I don’t bloody care!”

The heat of the fire was getting closer. The smoke was becoming suffocating. “ _I care._ Go, go get help!”

“There won’t be time!”

“Then there won’t, but if you stay here we’ll _both_ die.”

Fitz’s eyes were bright and wet with tears, though William couldn’t be sure if that wasn’t just the smoke. “Then I’ll die with you.”

“ _Please_ Fitz. I came here to tell you it’s Pasche and Rahmaan. I came—the whole point was to save you. Go!” 

For one more second, Fitz hesitated. “I love you.” And then he was gone. 

And William closed his eyes and thought that he could die happy just with that. 

 

William came to suddenly. His shoulder hurt like hell and his throat and eyes stung. He was completely disoriented and it took several moments for him to realize he was being carried by two men with another two trailing them. They were somewhere on the palace grounds and the night sky was lip up orange. 

They noticed he was conscious and let him down gently, one man keeping a hand on William’s arm as he attempted to steady himself. His head spun, and he wasn’t sure he would be able to walk without assistance. 

A few feet away a group of people was excitedly shouting something. After a few moments William realized that two of those people were Lisotte and Rumberg who were holding back a third. _Fitz._

_I love you._

__“You can’t go. Fitz, you can’t go!” Lisotte was shouting.

At that moment Fitz saw him and their eyes met. Fitz stumbled back and almost fell over, the look on his face painfully relieved. He rushed forward only to be stopped again by their friends. “Fitz!” – Rumberg this time. 

“No—it’s—Will—here!”

Lisotte and Rumberg tuned and saw him. Lisotte clasped a hand over her mouth and fell into Rumberg’s arms, completely letting go of Fitz. 

Finally free, Fitz ran to him and William braced himself for the impact. It did no good, They went tumbling down into the grass and William couldn’t help but wince at the stabbing pain in his shoulder. Fitz, alarmed, instantly froze. 

“No, it’s fine,” William said, his voice coming out raspy and barely noticeable. “It’s fine.” Fitz was in his lap, arms around his shoulders, eyes bright and feverish. He was warm and close and they had _nearly died_.... William pulled him closer, wrapped his arms around Fitz’s waist, touched their foreheads together and put one hand on the back of his neck. Fitz’s curls were wet and stuck to his skin and William’s fingers. But he hardly noticed. “What you said up there…?”

Fitz nodded. 

That was all the invitation William needed. He pulled Fitz forward the last few centimeters and kissed him. He tasted like smoke and tears and, yet, underneath it all, cherry wine. And William had never tasted anything better. 

After a few moments he pulled back to murmur against Fitz’s lips, “I love you too.” 

He felt Fitz’s smile more than saw it as their mouths came back together again. 

Behind them, the western wing of the palace burned. 

But they could deal with that later.


End file.
